Because I Hate You Right?
by lemongelo
Summary: And that electric tingling sensation, from when I bumped into you outside potions last Tuesday, (not that I memorized the moment or anything, really) was my desire to beat you to a pulp. Because I hate you.(Harry has denial problems. Slash, HD, one-shot)


**Disclaimer:** Oh come _on_ like I really own the glory that is the Harry Potter series! If I did, it would be a 3 page forgotten word file in the depths of my computer and some papers in the bottom of my trash can. So. Don't own it. Not makin' money. No copyright infringement intended.

**AN:** This was a one shot that's been poking me in the head for a while. It's a bit ranty but it came out ok. I don't have a beta so sorry for any mistakes. :D Reviews make me happy, remember that!

**AN2:** Hi again. While snacking down on some pudding and reading though my wonderful reviews I've gotten, I realized and then changed a few things. To start, this is now under _Romance/Humor_, where it's supposed to be and I thank _Freakedddd_ for bringing that to my attention. Second, I fixed some missed spelling errors. And third, I rewrote the ending a bit. I re-read it and realized what I wrote at 10:30 last night is not as good as I can write in a fully conscious state. :D Enjoy!

It's because I hate you. I honestly, truly, _hate_ you. I swear. It's true. I mean, what other reason could there be?

I'm glaring at you with suppressed hatred in potions and at meals, when no one else is looking. _Glaring_. That's all there is.

Hatred expressed by my _glares_.

And that shiver I feel when I catch your returning gaze- I mean. _Glare_. (You hate me too after all) Is hate, stirring in my stomach.

No ulterior motives to it. It's clearly hate. I mean, its s_o_ obvious.

And that electric tingling sensation, from when I bumped into you outside potions last Tuesday, (not that I memorized the moment or anything, really) was my desire to beat you to a pulp. Because I _hate_ you.

Really.

I swear.

And the reason I know your voice, your walk, your face, the sound of your footsteps. The reason I distinctly _know _when you enter the room is because you're my sworn enemy and greatest rival. And as sworn enemies and greatest rivals I have to know these things. It's perfectly reasonable.

At least, it should be…

Right?

Because I hate you.

And you hate me too.

Right?

So the reason I suddenly can't keep my eyes off you, or rather, your body. More specifically your face. And your hair. And your lips. And your are- I'm getting of the point. Anyway it's because I _hate_ you. It's perfectly reasonably for me to… err Memorize your looks. You're supposed to know your enemy better than your friends, or something like that.

I swear I'm not lying that I hate you.

Nope.

_No_ alternative motives what so _ever_. Just hate. Pure, undying hate.

And when tomorrow, Hermione will corner me in the common room and ask me what's been up with me. I'll tell her nothings wrong. Because there isn't anything wrong. And when she'll tell me how she's noticed my… "Attitude" towards you and imply not so subtly that there's something there beyond deep, passionate hate. I'll first look disgusted, and then laugh, and then reply "Good one Hermione. You know I can't stand that git." And I'll emphasize git. Because that's what you are. A git and a prat. With a really nice ar- No. _No_. Not going there. I hate you.

Yup. _Puuure_ hate.

Those silly thoughts I've been having. About some of your… err… anatomy, is just the stress of NEWTs and exams getting to my brain. Yes. Its perfectly normal to be stressed about NEWTs in sixth year. The first term of sixth year. Yes, normal. All normal.

So this Saturday, on the Hogsmead trip, at precisely 1:47, when I accidentally run into you in the entry to Honeydukes. Your jar of Cockroach Clusters and box of watermelon Sugarquills (your favorites but I only know that because I hate you so) will be knocked spectacularly to the floor and the jar will smash.

You'll curse. Something along the lines of "Damn you, Potter". I'll feel a slight shiver when you say it. (Because I hate you and you're not worthy to say my name) And from a lapse of proper judgment I'll mutter "sorry" and stoop to help you gather your things. My hand will brush yours, and I'll feel that electric tingle again. You'll feel it too, because we catch each others eyes and that stirring of hate will rise in my stomach.

We'll glance about, and miraculously, no one is around. I'll look back to you, and you'll lick your lips nervously. Our fingers will still be touching and that tingling hasn't died down yet. I won't remember who lean forward first, but it won't matter, because your soft lips will brush mine. One of us will gasp. We'll stare at each other, wide eyed. Any sense I had will rush out of my head at that moment.

We'll forget all about your ruined cockroach clusters and broken sugar quills. In a haze you'll stand, taking my hand lightly. We'll forget to care if anyone sees us. You'll sneak, hurriedly into a secluded ally, I will unspokenly follow. There we'll stand close together, gazing at each other instead of our customary glares. And then our lips will meet again. But not like the fist time. This time will be rougher, more passionate, and more desperate.

I'll realize, in a detached amused way, that Hermione was once again, righter than she never would know, and way ahead of me. Then I'll go back to snogging you, of course.

And I'll give up on this denial thing I've been holding on to. Deep down I know its denial. But I'm scared to admit it. Because until this Saturday, you hate me too.

Because I'm supposed to hate you.

But, I don't.


End file.
